


return destiny within thirty days

by woodhouse



Series: The Ephron Collection [2]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Epistolary, F/M, Grief/Mourning, Loss of Parent(s), Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-12
Updated: 2016-10-12
Packaged: 2018-08-22 01:52:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8268230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/woodhouse/pseuds/woodhouse
Summary: It was hard to find yourself again after the loss of a parent, but Octavia wanted more for her brother than a life of mourning. When she calls in to a radio station for some advice on how to help Bellamy find happiness again, Clarke finds herself hanging on to every word she hears of his story.OR the loose Sleepless in Seattle AU I asked myself for.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I might publish the full ream of email correspondence later.

Grief is a terrible and true pain; this much Bellamy knew. He wished he didn't, but if nothing else it was proof that he had loved.

When he had buried his mother, he couldn't tell the difference between the darkening abyss of earth opening before his feet and the empty feeling in his heart. He had mud on his shoes. There had been worms breaching from the earth after the short burst of rain that had opened the morning, and the thought of leaving Aurora with them made him want to vomit.

Octavia had been there, right by his side, clutching at his sweaty hand. Each sob wrenched from her mouth felt like a punch to his gut, another reminder of how he had failed: failed to protect her, or his mother, failed to keep their family together.

People - mostly faceless now, his memory of that day remained blurry - went out of their way to tell him that it ( _his pain? his grief? they were never clear what 'it' was_ ) would fade in time. So far, so wrong. It was one year to the day of her funeral. If anything, the pain was worse.

For Bellamy, every time he closed his eyes, she appeared. Her face was too much to bear, and so he refused to see her. Honestly, he had no idea when he last had a proper night's sleep, but chose to ignore it. He had taken to working at night, holed up in his office where he hoped Octavia wouldn't notice. His job as an city architect meant that work was always ongoing; he would always have an excuse for the growing bags under his eyes.

The younger Blake was not an idiot; she knew her brother had trouble sleeping since their mother's accident but now? Now she was scared. Octavia missed her mother, she thought about her often, but she realised that her mother would want her to live - would want them both to find happiness. She was trying, she really was. She was going out again more, re-joining her martial arts club, listening in to self-help radio show. See? Trying.

Bellamy, on the other hand, was wallowing. Which, at first, she supposed was his right to do. No one should tell anyone else how to process their grief. But seeing him wallowing in guilt and blame made her heart hurt, and her own grief bigger, as if it threatened to tear at the seams again.

Her mother was in her thoughts as she picked up the phone and dialed the number.

It wasn't until she was live on the air that she thought about the possible ways in which Bellamy might kill her for this, but it was too late now.

"Hello line one," a deep and familiar voice echoed in her ear, and she pressed the receiver closer to her ear. "You're live on Lincoln Listens, who am I talking to and what can I help you with?"

Octavia had been listening to Lincoln's show ever since the funeral. It wasn't anything special, every radio station worth their salt probably had a similar programme. Listeners could phone in with their many troubles - usually emotional - and Lincoln, and the viewers would troubleshoot. She found it - him - a soothing presence over the radio waves.

"Hi." She started, trying not to sound as nervous as she felt. "My name is Octavia and I'm worried about my brother."

"Lovely to hear from you, Octavia. What exactly is concerning you?" His voice set her at ease.

"He's not sleeping. He hasn't been sleeping for a while now. He's sad."

"Why is he sad?"

"Because of our mom."

"Could you let me know a little more, Octavia?"

"He's sad because - she died - and he hasn't dealt with his grief yet. At least that's what the internet tells me. He's been so good to me, like you can't even imagine. I don't mean just since, but - my whole life, and I'm worried that he's not ever going to get better. That's not what she would have wanted."

"Have you spoken to your brother about this at all?"

"Sort of? I mean - I've been trying to get him to sleep more, go out, that kind of thing but," she has to lower her voice to keep it steady, "I can't remember the last time I saw him smile, and it's breaking my heart."

"Firstly, let me give you my deepest condolences for your loss. I know, like I'm sure many of my listeners do, the heavy loss of losing a family member."

"Thanks."

"Tell me, Octavia. What's your brother doing right now?"

Octavia's heart jolted a little. She hoped this wasn't going to go where she thought. "Uh-he's-out in his workshop."

"Do you think you could maybe bring him on the line?"

 _Shit_. "Oh god, I don't know, he would hate it-"

"Octavia," Lincoln said gently. "I'm not trying to intrude but - things need to change, don't they?"

"Yeah but-"

"So," he pressed on, "let's start now."

Bellamy was slaving away over some blueprints, thinking about grabbing another Red Bull, when he heard Octavia yell through the door that there was someone on the line for him. When he picked the phone up, the voice that greeted him was smooth and silky and definitely not one he recognised. It put him on edge straight away.

"Hello, am I speaking to Bellamy, brother of Octavia?"

"Do I know you?"

"Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Lincoln and I have been listening to some of your sister's concerns this evening."

"Excuse me?" Bellamy was the picture of confusion.

"Your sister rung in to my show, Lincoln Listens, and told us a little bit about your situation."

"She did _what_?" He covered his hand over the phone and yelled her name. When he heard her reply on the same line, all he could do was run his fingers through his hair in frustration.

"Hey Bell," she said softly.

"Please, Bellamy," Lincoln intervened, "do not be angry with your sister. Her concerns come from a place of love. She needs _you_ to help _her_ help _you_."

Bellamy scrunched his nose at the corny and frankly confusing expression, but he stayed silent and waiting. It was not Octavia's voice, but Lincoln again who spoke next. "Octavia mentioned about your mother. Can I ask how long it has been since her passing?"

"One year," Bellamy said. _Not like it's any of your business_ , he added as an afterthought.

"And how have you been sleeping?" Wow this guy had no concept of privacy.

"Fine."

"He hasn't been sleeping at all," Octavia butted in.

"O- How do you-"

"I'm not an idiot, Bell. I have eyes. You basically live off caffeine, and I hear you shuffling about sometimes in the middle of the night. You're always awake no matter how early I get up."

"It's not a big deal-"

"Why are you having trouble sleeping, Bellamy? Do you know?" Lincoln interrupted.

"I should think that was obvious."

"It's not good for you, Bell-"

"Do you think I don't know that, O?" He couldn't control the soft sound of despair in his voice.

Lincoln cleared his throat. "Permit me to say, Bellamy, that it is obvious the bond between the pair of you is strong. I know it may seem like I am prying, but I would only remind you that it was your sister who reached out to the show. Your sister needs you at the moment. And what is particularly beautiful to see, is that all she needs is for you to start sharing some of the emotions you're bottling up. I know that sometimes this is a difficult and uncomfortable thing to do. But sometimes speaking to a stranger is easier than speaking to those we know and love. Might you try, for your sister's sake?"

"Please, brother."

Bellamy didn't know what to do. "Fine."

His sister's voice was brimming with relief. "Thank you. I won't listen. I'll hang up. Just know - I love you."

"That's one hell of a sister you've got there, Bellamy."

The fires of Bellamy's filial pride were stoked by the comment. He knew how lucky he was.

Granted, this was not the way he thought his night was going to go. He started to tell his story.

* * *

 

"Babe! Come here! You need to listen to this!"

The sound of Raven's voice reached Clarke, at work in her studio. Well, she called it a studio but it was really the small third bedroom of their shared apartment. Thankfully, Raven was awesome and allowed Clarke to overtake it with her art supplies. Clarke wiped her paint smeared hands on her overalls before joining Raven in their kitchen. The brunette was bent over one of their radios. They had multiple because Raven was always tinkering with at least two at a time.

"What is it?" Clarke asked.

"This guy on Lincoln's radio show."

"Ugh not again, Raven."

Lincoln was a friend of Clarke's from college. He had a part time radio show that she and her friends had started trash-listening to when he started out. They'd made a drinking game out of the types of callers and topics on each show, and for each of Lincoln's corny catchphrases. It got old pretty quick though. Most of the calls became quite serious and moving once the listeners realised that Lincoln was actually a really empathetic guy. It made the drinking games less fun.

"No no no- I think you should actually listen to this one." Raven met Clarke's eyes. "It might help."

Clarke caught the tail end of a guy's sentence as Raven walked over, kissed her on the cheek and snuck out. She was alone in the kitchen. The voice reaching out to her over the radio was soft and deep and hurting. She could probably guess what this was going to be about.

"-and it was like no other pain I've known. I see her every time I close my eyes. That's why I avoid sleep." The voice deep and masculine, but sounded like it was being torn apart.

Clarke started to listen intently. Ever since she had lost her dad, she had felt adrift. She, too, had been avoiding sleeps and the nightmares that lay waiting for her there.

"Could you tell me why you don't want to see her?" Clarke recognised Lincoln's voice.

"I - I don't really know. I don't want to forget her. But it's like - it's like she's haunting me. Like she's there to remind me of all the things I did wrong. How I could have helped her, if only I'd done more-"

Clarke sat down silently, not trusting her legs to hold her up. It was like this voice was expressing her darkest thoughts. The painful honesty of it brought tears to her eyes.

"What would you say to her?"

"I would say-" the voice was choking up, "that I'm _sorry_ I wasn't- How? How do I make the guilt go away?" Clarke felt an inexplicable pull to make this person feel better, to ease their hurt.

"Bellamy, I think you need to start making more connections. There are no easy answers. You can grow and learn from people if you let them."

Bellamy. Putting a name to the voice only made Clarke more curious. Who was this person? Who had he lost? 

The radio was silent for a while, and then Lincoln prodded again.

“Do you think there’s something – or someone – out there who could help you?”

“What, like a shrink?” Bellamy sounded dismissive. Clarke could relate. She'd been fobbed off on her fair share of psychiatrists by her mother after a particularly graphic nightmare had caused her to fracture a toe. She had thrashed at her bed post without realising.

“No. Like a partner," Lincoln clarified.

Bellamy scoffed at the idea. “I’m not someone who anybody should be interested in partnering with at the moment, I assure you.”

“Indulge me. Who would you like to connect with?”

“I don’t know. Someone who could help me make sense of this world I’m in. Someone who feels like home.”

Clarke bit her lip, full of emotion for this person. She wanted exactly what he was describing. She wanted it so badly.

“I’m sure I’m not alone in wishing you the best in that, not just my listeners but if I may add, your mother. You sound more than deserving, Bellamy. You and your charming sister. What are you going to do in the meantime, our listeners would love to know.”

So, his mother. He had lost a parent too, Clarke thought. When his voice reached her again, it sounded tragically resigned. She tried not to let the tears fall.

“Well, I’m going to just – make sure I get dressed every morning. Go to work. Eat. Try to sleep. And – repeat the process until… until it gets easier. Just carry on, if I can, piece by piece. And try – try to remember the good times. And thank my sister I guess.”

 

* * *

 

Clarke had a problem. A _big_ problem. She couldn't stop thinking about Bellamy Blake. His conversation with Lincoln had made such an impression in her mind, she thought she was becoming one of those irrational crazies that people go out of their way to avoid. It was just - everything he had said hit a nerve with her. Thoughts she hadn't told anyone, he just laid bare.

"It's just - I think he really understands me. That's crazy right?" she confided in Raven.

"Normally, I would say yes. But - there was a reason I called you in to listen, Clarke. He just sounded like your kind of person. You should have heard the shit he was giving to Lincoln before you came in. It was sublime."

Clarke waved her hands in frustration. "What am I meant to do? I should just forget about it, right?"

"Yeah, sure, _or_ -"

"Or?" Clarke asked, Raven just winked.

It hadn't been hard to find him on Facebook.

" _That's_ what he looks like?" Clarke yelled. "Oh god this is bad, this is worse. Raven!" Clarke punched her in the shoulder, but that didn't stop Raven's hysterics. "This is so unfair."

When Raven had calmed down, she tried to make Clarke feel better. "Look, there's no problem here. He's insanely hot, so are you."

His photos - there weren't many of them available to view, but that didn't matter - were beyond attractive. His profile picture showed him in what looked like some sort of professional head shot. He was in a light blue button down and carried a roll of paper under his arm. His eyes were warm, his mouth set in a soft line.

"I want to talk to him."

"So send him a message."

"What, so he knows I've been stalking him? No thanks."

Raven took the laptop out of her hands. "Leave it up to me," and it sounded like a promise.

* * *

 

Bellamy was shocked when Octavia showed him her inbox. She had left Lincoln’s show with her email address in order to get passed through to air. After Bellamy’s heartfelt words, and longing for a connection, Octavia had been inundated with responses from listeners: mostly female, but some males had reached out too.

“I’d been reading them as they were coming in – I didn’t think to tell you, because god most of them are lame. But – this one came through today. I think you should read it.”

“Not interested, O.” He still couldn't quite believe just how much he had let out during that phone call. He felt exposed and was certainly not interested in random people's opinions.

Unsurprisingly, his response had not been enough to deter Octavia. She had left a print out on his desk.

 

_To:octaviatheblake@gmail.com_

_From:c.griff@ark.net_

_Title: **Sleepless in common**_

 

> Dear Bellamy,
> 
> I’m sorry if this is a weird thing to do. I heard you on my friend’s show. I know it probably didn’t feel like it at the time, but hearing what you had to say was a real help. I lost my dad last year and- I just think what you did was really brave. Anyway, that’s it, really. I just wanted to say thanks. It’s nice to feel like I’m not alone. And that I hope things start getting better for you, but I also know how phrases like that just sound like bullshit.
> 
> All the best,
> 
> Clarke Griffin

 

He smiled, in spite of himself. 'Clarke Griffin' was right, it did sound like bullshit. He couldn't explain what stopped him exactly from throwing it into the trash straightaway. For all his feigned disinterest, the message sounded genuine. Bellamy hadn't thought about the fact that the listeners might not all be nosing in on his business. That other people out there might feel the same way. That he might not be, as Clarke had said, alone. Still, he was going to ignore the message. That was, until he found himself unable to sleep that night. He thought back to the title. Fuck it, he thought. It seemed the better choice to fire up his laptop rather than pop more pills.

 

_To: c.griff@ark.net_

_From: bblake@gmail.com_

_Title: **A note**_

   

> Hi. I hope you don't mind me taking your email from my sister. I can't sleep, so I thought I would thank you for your message. It meant something.
> 
> Bellamy
> 
>  

 

It had been Raven's encouragement that allowed Clarke to a) send the first message and b) keep sending them. Part of her felt like a fraud, for knowing what he looked like, and not admitting it, but her instincts had been right. They understood each other. Talking to him was one of the best feelings she'd experienced since, well. Through the distance of email, they both found comfort and honesty. Clarke shared stories about her nightmares, Bellamy shared stories about what he called his hauntings.

Octavia caught Bellamy smiling into his laptop one day, and stopped everything she was doing. Bellamy looked up, spoonful of cereal hovering in front of her mouth.

"O?" His face fluttered with concern.

"You were smiling. You were smiling."

Bellamy looked confused, as if he were trying to trace back through his recent facial expressions.

"You were smiling!" Octavia laughed heartily, her eyes bright with tears. She walked over to the table and reached for his hand. "Tell me why."

* * *

_To: c.griff@ark.net_

_From: bblake@gmail.com_

_Title: **Cosmic bullshit**_

  

> Do you believe in fate? Was it our destiny to hurt like this? Are we being punished for something?
> 
> I’m sorry. I feel like I’m burdening you with my shit. Ignore me.

 

_To: bblake@gmail.com_

_From: c.griff@ark.net_

_Title: **Opposite of burden**_

 

> Before my dad died, I thought destiny was just an invention made by mankind to try and find some meaning in the random little paths and actions of our lives. I’d scoff at those kind of people, you know, the type who can’t seem to handle the idea of coincidence. Everything has to happen for a reason. But then – well afterwards – I started to ask those same questions. How could someone so brilliant just die for no logical reason? How could someone so brilliant just disappear? What was it all for? So. In answer to your question: yes and no. I believe now, in spite of myself. Because there has to be a reason for it all. Because if there’s not, I don’t know how I’m supposed to go on.
> 
>  

Octavia read through all the messages with her brother at her side, wiping the tears. The connection he had created with this person, this Clarke Griffin, in the space of weeks was beautiful. Even the dark thoughts they shared - they were helping each other. It was everything she had wanted for him.

"You need to find her," Octavia told him.

"Who says it's a her?"

"I can't be sure but- I've heard Lincoln refer to a Clarke, who is a girl. And she said she was friends with him."

"You've heard Lincoln hmm?"

"Shut up, Bell. I - let's just say I've had someone to talk to as well."

"I love you, O."

"Love you too, Bell."

* * *

“I saw him in the park today, with his sister.”

Clarke had flung open the door and stood there, panting. Raven scrambled up from the sofa and took her by the shoulders.

“Oh my god. What did you do?”

“Nothing. Just – watched.”

“Babe.” Raven was trying to figure out just what level of emotional breakdown Clarke was about to have. She was pretty unreadable at times.

“He looked happy. That’s good right?” Clarke breathed.

“Sure," Raven replied with bright certainty.

“He said hello to me.”

“He did? What happened?” Raven's eyes bulged.

“I was staring at them, like a fool. I wasn’t paying attention to anything else. I nearly collided with a cyclist.”

“What!?”

“Yeah. Totally my fault. I may have shrieked a little; he may have looked up at me from the bench.”

Clarke couldn't quite describe at the moment just how charged his look had been. His eyes had depths she hadn't even dreamed of. She could swim in them for days, she thought. She _had_ , almost. It was like they had both been suspended in time, just staring at each other.

“Did you say anything to him?”

“All I could think was to say hello.”

“Hello,” Raven repeated.

“Yup,” Clarke drew the word out and popped it against her lip for emphasis. Then she whacked her hand to her forehead. “He must think I’m insane.”

“Hey, hey, calm down babe. He didn’t know it was you. What did you do after?”

Clarke groaned. "I may have run off." She shook Raven by the shoulders in a silent plea for help.

"Clarke, honey, you might not want to hear this, but I think it's pretty clear that you're going to go crazy if you don't meet him. Properly. And stay in the same vicinity as him when you do."

 

* * *

 

Bellamy clutched the piece of paper in his hand like it was a life line. In Octavia's scrawl was - god he hoped it was - Clarke's address. He hadn't asked how, didn't really want to know too much about the relationship between her and Lincoln. All he wanted was to see Clarke, to meet her finally. He couldn't remember the last time he felt this way. Nervous. _Excited_.

When the door opened, he could see into a bright, open plan apartment. A beautiful brunette woman stood in front of him at the door, and slightly behind her - but still in plain sight - stood a stunning blonde. Bellamy was dumbstruck. He hadn't even thought that Clarke might not live alone. And in that case, how he was meant to make a grand gesture if he had no idea who he was meant to be addressing it to.

Thankfully, the girls seemed to know more than he did.

The brunette in front of him was smirking like it was in danger of going out of fashion; the blonde couldn't stop looking at him and - he thought he remembered -

"Bellamy," Clarke muttered astonishingly.

 _The girl in the park_ , he thought in wonder. He had been shocked into stillness then, captivated by the storm blue of her eyes. And here she was. And here she knew him. She must be -

"Clarke?" he whispered.

She nodded. The brunette had disappeared. He had not seen where.

"You found me," she said. She was smiling in front of him and it was reflected on his own face.

"I found you."

Bellamy leaned down, because he couldn't help himself, and pressed a warm kiss onto her cheek. "It's nice to meet you," he murmured into her hair as she pulled him into a fierce hug.

She laughed into his chest, "I can't believe you're here. God you smell good."

He couldn't quite hear her, her mouth muffled in the fabric of his sweater. "Sorry, what?"

She couldn't stop laughing. "Nothing."

Bellamy's grin widened more and more at the sight of her, the feel of her in his arms. _Finally_ , he thought. "Would you like to get a drink? With me?"

Clarke linked her fingers with his in a warm and firm grip. "How about dinner too?"

He squeezed their hands together. "Even better."

 


End file.
